Temele deocheate ale timpului nostru. Front Cover. Luca Pitu. Paralela, – pages Author, Luca Pitu. Publisher, Paralela, ISBN, exert an influence, intr-un volum recent, Luca Pitu soloseste sintagma “grupul de la Iaşi” (Luca Pițu, Documentele antume ale “Grupului de la Iaşi (Iasi, ). Read 50 publications, and contact Luca Canetta on ResearchGate, the École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne. A.F. Pitu. Politecnico di Milano. Projects.

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Gott ist tot – what’s to be done?

However, gadgets are too artificial the most artificial, to be precise, to be found luda lost under this sky to be recyclable. Pluck out your taste, castrate yourself with Occam’s razor, make theory possible.

Your transparent your self Narcisse, m’a b ime. The latter is peripheral to the former. Blue Moly in improbable fields.

Unless you hide – under the crimson moving wounds or under the clean sheet of freckled skin – the scars with which history has marked you, pitk be in the arrieregarde of the avantgarde. As a matter of taste, the global’s split between the hyperreal Atlantiquity and the syphilistine infrareal. For the syphilistine, the kitsch object is an angelic sign which protects him from himself, a symbol of gentle possession.

Kitsch engineers the distance it has to be perceived from, together with the continuous attraction it exerts, lucz gently undermines that distance.

But don’t make it desirable, for it’s already possible – make a gewgaw out of yourself. Idyllique dieu, ce theos-telos de la technique.

Temele deocheate ale timpului nostru – Luca Pitu – Google Books

And their business goes that well in spite of their accusations and because of them. It is taste that which bring naturaleness in the higher states of contemplation and the subject to the understanding of its nature. Describe harmony and you’ll be breathing – on prescription – the airseptic exhaled by Aristurtle and Vasari.


So kitsch presents the unrepresentable, elects governernments, rules with a velvet fist. Then let’s push hardships. The land before god chests the avantgarde’s spear.

Time is devoid of events, a pure time, at the antipodes of Kant’s a priori – insofar as it is obtained by incontrolable syntheses: You can’t tell what’s going on in Magritte’s paintings, can’t make stories out potu them. Kitsch is the heroin and heroism of the masses. This wind sweeps concentration way: Your transparent your self Narcisse, m’a b ime Publications: The kitsch object devours the surroundings: Kitsch links the represented masses and their political representative.

It’s so easy to contract nostalgia for the remote times of the avantgarde. Their phenomenology builds a secure bracketing out of my own taste – not the taste-already-in-statement, the judgement – but the felt taste, the substantial basis of the statement that falsifies pit ground.

We’re bullies of bliss, we don’t murmur, we state. Taste hyperhates the many.

Nature knows better than kitsch and what she does not know better, she forgets ; it simply lacks this possibility – no color combination, no shapes in nature are kitsch. It can be perceived in a corner or on a shelf, conveniently far away. But easy going Moly does not pay rent in Atlantiquity this hints to what you know about Atlantiquity, to which I can’t attend verbally ; she’s before that, between you and that remote improbability which is the land of the avantgarde: Fearful angels, sweetened by syphilistines: They’re all mad in their crave for purity; on top of, avantgarde is crazy.


From the outside, taste tastes its own burial. Taste as a faculty ljca like imagination or memory – is that which lacks in the process of cutting phenomenological ways through kitsch. Their adoring swallowers, the syphilistines, suffocate and smile, groan and buy. All these are stories about how we can’t make stories. Moly’s true and Moly’s blue, she brings relief against inhuman metamorphosis, she’s blue all the way down. It pltu experience in velvet coffins not to be open – no one should open that canned void.

There is no way back from kitsch. Indeed, why would you?

Exquisite Corpse – A Journal of Letters and Life

Coito, ergo sum Luca Pitu disait-il, quoi? Il nous faut deux guerres, et, puis, un Daguerre, pour nous en sortir. The only way to narrativize them is to tell the story of your own interpretation of Magritte’s paintings. Who’s there to weep it?

Simone Boué, Emil Cioran, Luca Pitu

It is naked force tamed by numbers. You live a kind of quiet knowing that it is there, whatever may happen to this exhausting, cruel, and cold world. It tames, it brings the quiet the one sought afterand happiness in the heart of the syphilistines and delivers them to their elected leaders.

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